


Hin Moon

by All_The_Funny_Usernames_Are_Taken



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Co-workers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, but theyre all stupid and no one realises, that one came out of nowhere and im only kind of sorry, theres like one dead guy he isnt important i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/All_The_Funny_Usernames_Are_Taken/pseuds/All_The_Funny_Usernames_Are_Taken
Summary: Dimitri doesn't think anyone in their building actually knows what they do. Anyone he asks is as in the dark as he is, and like, no departments mingle, and that means he's stuck with every other miserable bastard in the Accounting department. They are given their vague work, and they do it without question - no one gives a shit.Dimitri certainly doesn't, he's too busy trying to figure out how to ask his co-worker out and not overthink everything in the process.Alternatively: I shamelessly overuse the fuck out of italics and I'm making it everyone else's problem.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	Hin Moon

Dimitri has always been an early riser. He enjoys the morning - as shit as it is when you live next to a main road, but whatever - it's not as bad as it could be. He's always up first - before Mikaela, because she's his polar opposite and thrives a lot easier later in the day.

It's quiet. He enjoys it. Just being alone in their living room, nursing a coffee and slowly waking up. If Mikaela were up, they would be talking. Not out of obligation - but because you know. They're friends, and they _talk_ to each other as friends do. He wouldn't live with her if he couldn't stand her.

Still. It's nice to have an hour. Knowing it's peaceful, knowing that everything is fine and he isn't on the verge of overthinking shit.

He can hear the faint sound of Mikaela's alarm. Then silence.

He sips at the remainder of his coffee, getting up to drop his mug (world's best grandpa, given to him for his birthday by his nephew, who thought it was fucking hysterical, and he was _right_.) into the sink. He can hear Mikaela bitching as he passes her room to reach his own to get dressed. He's sure she's going to hit snooze a couple of times before she drags herself up.

However, Dimitri hears Mikaela's alarm being shut off for the fifth time - he had been keeping count while getting dressed - and thinks that maybe, _just maybe_ it's time to step in and convince her to get up. It's a gruelling task - but something he unintentionally took on when they decided they really needed someone to split rent with. If he can't convince her he can always just forcibly drag her out of bed - it's demeaning and she hates it very much but Dimitri isn't above it.

He knocks on her bedroom door, careful. Sure, he wants her to wake up, he does not want to incur her wrath however. "Misha?" He calls out quietly, in what he _hopes_ is a placating tone that will not be taken as an insult to her entire family line. "Misha, are you up?" he knocks a second time.

He is rewarded to the sound of something thumping against the door. It's better than nothing.

He opens the door. There’s a pillow in front of it. "Go away," Mikaela complains, ducking her head beneath her sheets. As far as she is concerned, if she doesn't _look_ at Dimitri, he can't possibly be real, and that means he can't possibly make her get up and then, by process of elimination, make her get ready for work. He doesn't quite know how she's come to this conclusion, but it's how they've executed most mornings for like, a year now. It'd almost be weird if she _didn’t_ try and shy away and hide from him every morning.

"You're going to be late for work," Dimitri says, dropping himself onto her mattress heavily, trying very hard not to accidentally sit on any of her limbs. "And in doing so, you'll make _me_ late for work."

Mikaela's arm snakes out from the sheets, snatching her phone up from her bedside table. She spends a hot second fiddling with the charger with one hand, trying very hard to unplug it without her other hand, before she manages and yanks herself back under the sheets entirely with an incoherent mumble that Dimitri can't quite place. It's a complaint, he can tell that much, but what else is Mikaela around for at this point - a bitchiness that knows no bounds, truly. "It's-" Mikaela sits up quickly, probably too quickly, because Dimitri spots the second head-rush hits and makes her flinch. "Fuck," she says. "It's later than I thought it was."

"How many alarms did you _sleep_ through?" Dimitri tries to snatch her phone from her. Mikaela pulls a face - she is not proud, and doesn't need to voice her lack of pride. He can tell. "God."

"Do I even need a job," Mikaela complains, falling backwards. Her head thuds against the wall with a painful sounding crack. Her eyes snap shut and she breathes deeply through a frown. Dimitri can practically _hear_ her counting to ten in her head in some vain attempt of curbing her god-awful temper. "Dimitri start planning my funeral."

"Mika," Dimitri says, "I literally cannot pay for your funeral. We're broke, hence why we are working. So we can inevitably pay for our funerals."

" _Mitya_ ," Mikaela complains, a pitiful wail that probably gets her whatever she wants with whatever poor motherfucker she's sunk her claws into depending on the day. Dimitri has known Mikaela since they were like, four, and is therefore immune to her wicked ways. He yanks her pillow out from under her - her head hits the wall again, much less violently than the first, but still. Her head connects with a less-than-stellar thud.

He can see her will to live draining just a little more. She moves to roll back over and just accept defeat.

"You're the only one in the department who actually knows how the filing room works," Dimitri reminds her kindly. and Mikaela throws her phone at him. It bounces pathetically from his chest to his lap before sliding onto the floor. He looks up from it to her face - sad, defeated. "Are you done?"

Mikaela covers her face with her hands with a muffled groan. "I'm done," she admits finally. "I'm done. How are we for time?"

"You're smart enough to set your alarm like, two hours early," Dimitri reminds her. "You've got time to shower and get dressed."

"Coffee?" She asks, pitiful and yearning.

"No coffee," he tells her sadly. "Unless you forego your shower or clothes."

Mikaela's terribly sad face brightens up. "I showered last night," she says, kicking herself free from her sheets. "I've got dry shampoo, I'll live for like, one day, it's fine. We're fine. Can you make me a coffee? Please? Mitya, brother I never had? Whom I love more than anything this meek world can offer me?"

"Black or white?"

"White," she says, yanking open one of her drawers, it rattles ominously. Dimitri wonders when it's going to give up the ghost and collapse. "I should still have some soy milk, right?"

"Should," Dimitri says, already drifting back to the door. "Hang on, I'll check." He shuts the bedroom door behind him on his tiny, miniscule journey back to the fridge. They haven't stocked up for like, three days and it's beginning to look dire. "We have Soy," he calls out loud enough for her to hear.

"Fuck me up," comes the ever-cheerful response, muffled through her no-doubt terribly exhausted attempts at yanking on a shirt.

She only comes stumbling out, still buttoning her shirt up, when she's sure Dimitri has her coffee ready, snatching the chipped mug (one of those ha-ha funny cunt mugs, where the handle is the c, her latest ex-boyfriend had gotten her it when they broke up, it was incredibly funny - he still comes over for dinner every now and then)

"Good morning, Misha," Dimitri greets properly.

"Morning Mitya," she snips amicably. "Thanks for the coffee - I'd die for you, man." She leans up, pressing a barely there kiss to his cheek.

She's an affectionate little bastard when she feels like it - her affection is loud and sudden and unashamed. She _will_ kiss Dimitri because she feels like it, _no_ she is not in love with him.

_("If you can't give your buds a kiss what pray tell, is the goddamn point?" she had asked, when Miranda once asked her why she was so willing to kiss Dimitri with seemingly no reason.)_

"You will," he says sweetly, returning the favour and dropping a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, chug it, we need to catch the bus in like, twenty minutes."

"You said I had time!" she complains. "You suck - I retract anything nice I've ever said about you, you're a rat and I _hate_ you."

"It could be avoided," Dimitri says, watching her throw back the entirety of her coffee in one horrible, probably scalding swoop. There's no way she tasted any of it, before she's frantically buttoning her pants and tucking her shirt in and trying to stumble towards her coat and shoes all at once.

She manages to do so, avoiding giving herself a second - third? - concussion. Somehow.

Dimitri doesn't get how someone so low to the ground can be as clumsy as Mikaela.

"I'm going to _skin_ you," Mikaela warns, and it's the only indication that he spoke out loud, taking a jab at her... vertical challenges.

_(Mikaela is five foot tall, she has been since she was fifteen - she's very sensitive about it.)_

"That's nice," Dimitri says. "Can it wait until we get paid? Like I said, we don't have enough in savings to pay for a funeral, and I don't want to be dumped in lake Michigan or something."

"It's real cute you think I'd dump you in a lake," Mikaela says. "I'd leave you in one of the dumpsters by the crackhead-infested gas station." She pulls a face when she yanks one of her shoes on - "Fuck I need a better pair."

"Can I be upgraded to the seven-eleven dumpsters?" Dimitri asks, ignorant to her shoe-related comment. "I don’t think that's too much to ask."

"Too far away," Mikaela says, shoving her own keys into her pocket while she steps outside, waving briefly to someone down the hall. "I don't have it in me to drag your flayed corpse all the way there."

"I guess that's fair," Dimitri says, locking the door. "Do you _have_ everything? I don't want to get to work just for you to realise you left your phone or something."

Mikaela's eyes roll so hard he's worried she's going to hurt herself. She makes a show of pulling her keys back out of her pocket, her phone from her _other_ pocket, and her wallet from her bag. "Happy?" she asks, crossing her arms.

"Very - hang onto my wallet, will you?"

"Brave move Mitya. I'm not above petty theft, we know this."

"I have like, five dollars in there in change and I dread to think about my bank account. It's not worth it."

"It's really sad that we've got like, twenty between us at the best of times, huh?" Mikaela asks idly, almost tripping over a crack in the concrete flooring of the hallway. "And we still live in a shithole."

It's an understatement. Dear _god_ is it an understatement.

The halls smell like piss, something is always broken and the walls are so thin Dimitri and Mikaela are intimately aware of their neighbours marital issues.

_("Do you think it'd be rude if I recommended a marriage counsellor to them?" Mikaela asked at like, three in the morning once while said neighbours had the mother of all domestics. "Don’t get me wrong, I don't give a shit about their marriage, I just want to sleep."_

_Dimitri had insisted that she didn't actively do that, but he caught her a few nights later shoving a business card into their mail-slot before they had to catch the bus for work._

_Judging by the arguments they still had, they hadn't taken the hint.)_

"Shut up," he says, shoving her instead of answering. "We're going to be late."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, they make it, like they always do. Dimitri and Mikaela have their routine down to the slightest detail - they know they won't be late - they're both just too keyed up and anxious to ever remember that in the morning.

They always make it, and always have time for Mikaela to _insist_ on a stop at Starbucks before they actually make it to the office. Because her having to chug coffee is as regular as ever. They aren't _supposed_ to have drinks by their computers, but once Mr. Li himself tried to tell them that, his secretary-slash-personal-assistant had loudly reminded him that _he_ keeps his coffee by his laptop.

Mr. Li had been furious, Mikaela had the best day of her life, watching how mad he got.

The point is- Mikaela and Dimitri aren't late. They complain about the bus-ride as they trudge upstairs because their elevators are shit and slow and there is no goddamn point to them at _all_.

"I need to fix my face," Mikaela says after spotting her reflection in her monitor, setting her coffee down. "I'll be right back, make sure no one tries any funny shit with my drink."

The last time she left her drink unattended, someone thought it would be hysterical to dump salt into it. Sure, they were right, but Mikaela's thunderous temper had not been fun. She isn't the head of department in name, but she might as _well_ be the head of Accounting.

"What if I try funny shit with your drink?"

"I know where you sleep," Mikaela tells him kindly, yanking her make-up bag from her other bag, and vanishing into the bathroom. He can vaguely hear her announce "Oh, what the fuck is wrong with _you_?" and he wonders briefly, who is having a shit day already.

Better them than him, he supposes, turning his computer on finally.

"Morning 'Mitri!"

Oh dear god, Dimitri thinks. Here it comes. The highlight of his day, and the absolute worst part of his day all at once. He wonders if it's rude to excuse _himself_ to the toilet after having been greeted so soon.

Not to sound like a sap, but Dimitri has always compared John to the sun, is the thing. Ever since he got transferred in from a sister company. He was kind. Something no one in Hin Moon's accounting department knew, because they all work with numbers and they’re miserable about it.

_("I like him," Mikaela had said, days after his arrival. "He's good at what he does - god only knows I need other people to actually be good at their job. What's that, I've got you, me and John now? Fuck, Mitya, I've almost got a whole fuckin' department now."_

_Dimitri had made a strained sound, one that had Mikaela squinting at him, before horrible realisation reaches her face. "Mitya," she had said, in that cold, calculating way of hers that made his skin crawl._

_"Don't," Dimitri had begged - and maybe it was because it was so new, maybe it was so early in the day, but Mikaela had softened up. She had shook her head and sighed - and she didn't bring up Dimitri's terrible crush on their new co-worker, for like a week.)_

"Good morning, John," Dimitri forces out, hoping he doesn't sound like, a second away from death. "Good weekend?"

John beams. Dimitri wants to weep. He's too warm and happy in the mornings. He wants to hate it, but finds that whenever John does _anything_ he would usually hate, it becomes this endearing trait to him and it's game fucking over.

"Can't complain," John shrugs. "My sister had her kid, finally!" he perks up. "I haven't seen her yet, and she won't even _tell_ me if I have a niece or a nephew yet!"

Dimitri makes a strangled noise. He doesn't mean it, but he does. The mental imagery of John with children is too much. John laughs again. "I'll leave you to your work, 'Mitri!" he waves, before getting himself comfortable across the room at his own computer.

Dimitri wants to die.

Mikaela returns, make-up considerably fixed, and she grabs her coffee, sinking down. "You're pathetic," she tells him, narrowly avoiding spilling coffee down her shirt. Dimitri knows this, but she doesn't have to actually put it into words, eviscerating him when they're only like, ten minutes into their day.

Dimitri doesn't actually verbally respond, his eyes are fixated entirely on John still, and he simply does not want to look away. Why would he? John just... radiates kindness and warmth and Dimitri doesn't know how _true_ that actually is, because for all he knows he could just be super gay and projecting his feelings and _assuming_ that John is like this beacon of happiness when he's actually miserable or something. How fucked up would that be? Like two astronauts on the moon and one killed the other with a rock kind of fucked up.

John looks up, smiles, and waves. Dimitri shits himself, blinks, offers a nervous, stilted wave right back, and ducks down into his cubicle, praying that Mikaela shows him mercy, and keeps her mouth shut about his scarlet cheeks.

Mikaela is a cruel woman. "Morning John," She calls out cheerfully, sitting straighter and higher. Dimitri peers at her, incredulous and betrayed from the corner of his eyes, wondering just what she is _fucking_ playing at. "I heard you talking about your sister's kid! Congrats on uncle-hood bud! Just saw Miranda in the bathroom, she says you’ve been _glowing._ " She's an evil woman. Because Mikaela is so _very_ good at lulling people into her space with pleasant conversation. He can hear John laugh - a low, soft sound that makes his heart stutter, pausing entirely before speeding up and he wonders if this is what cardiac arrest feels like.

"I thought you _hated_ Miranda?" John grins, having approached and leaning over Dimitri's cubicle wall to offer them both a smile.

_(Dimitri chooses not to notice that his eyes flick to him briefly. He chooses to believe that the very-subtle softening of his face was entirely in his own head, and he tries very hard not to think too much about it.)_

"Darling," Mikaela says, hand on her chest. "I despise _everyone_ in this department. Everyone in accounting is a snake." She pauses. "Except maybe you two," she waves between John and Dimitri. "You're both like, soft and squishy in a way accounting hasn't hurt you yet - neither of you start shit with anyone, it's cute."

John laughs again, a nervous one this time and Dimitri tries to hide his terribly ruddy face in his sleeve. He prays. God he hopes John doesn't fucking-

"Are you too hot, Dimitri?" John asks, a concerned lilt to his tone. He reaches a hand out, pressing the back of his hand to Dimitri's forehead and he awaits the sweet, cold embrace of death when his stupid idiot face heats up further. Mikaela makes a pathetic attempt at hiding her bark of laughter with a cough, mouse clicking a couple times as John tries very hard to determine if Dimitri is dying (he is). "You feel _way_ too hot, do you need a minute outside? Come on, I'm sure Catherine won't mind five minutes tops?"

"I'll cover for you," Mikaela says easily. Like a snake. "I've got immunity with her anyway. She can't start shit with me, because I do her goddamn job for her."

"Why aren't you head of the department, Mika?" John asks, helping Dimitri stand up, because he is convinced he is sick, and not embarrassed to be in his vicinity. Dimitri feels warm with shame - he's being so _nice_ for no reason because Dimitri is so stupid and gay and in _love_ with him it's stupid. He's stupid. _fuck_.

"If I was head of the department like, _legitimately_ ," Mikaela says, "I wouldn't have time to fuck around and talk shit on everyone. Sure, I'd get paid more but I can't stand the big boss bitches here, they're stuffy, pompous _fucks_." She leans back in her chair, arms crossing. "I'd also have to speak with Mr. Li more than I already do, and I would literally rather _die_." She schools her face into something more concerned - Dimitri can see through it. She is a snake, and he will have her killed when they get home later. "Oh man, you should get him outside. He doesn't look good." she waves them both off hurriedly, "Go, I got you both."

John keeps a firm hand on his back, leading him slowly like he's something precious that will shatter instantly if handled incorrectly. Dimitri spares a glance backwards at Mikaela - who's scribbling on a post-it and smacking it onto Dimitri's computer monitor, before she skips off too happily to do the same to John's computer. She catches him looking, and offers a very crude gesture he chooses to ignore. He can hear Miranda bark out laughter. God he hopes Miranda doesn't know how impossibly in love he is. It's embarrassing enough _he_ knows.

"You really should look after yourself, 'Mitri," John scolds him gently. There's no heat to it. His mouth quirks into a fond little smile that has his terrible heart doing backflips. "I get that Mika's all about shows of strength but _come on_."

Dimitri forces out a hysterical little laugh. "Mika acts like she's hot shit here, but she doesn't want you all knowing she sleeps through like, eleven alarms a day and needs me to wake her up."

John's face does something funny. An expression shifts across his features so quickly Dimitri can't quite parse it out. He doesn't even have time to consider, or even ask - "Good morning, Mr. Bonkovsky. Mr. Mann."

Mr. Li is nothing short of terrifying, is the thing. Dimitri is terrified of him. John is terrified of him.. Mikaela is also terrified of him - but she hides it with her hatred of him. He's staring down at them expectantly.

John gives Dimitri another funny look, but Dimitri is too busy cowering to be gay. "Good - Good morning, Mr. Li. How was your weekend?" He really does not care. He would much prefer to get a stinted 'good morning' out and getting the fuck out of dodge. But see, due to unfortunate circumstances, while Dimitri's _own_ parents had been high-key garbage, Mikaela's father was a saint of a man, and raised Dimitri to be a polite young man.

_(Dimitri does not know where that message got skewed in Mikaela's head but whatever.)_

"Uneventful," Mr. Li says, and Dimitri used to think he was just mad. Constantly. Like, ready to commit murder mad. But now he knows he just has an incredible case of resting-bitch-face that spreads to how he talks. "Sorry to bother you with work when you..." he pauses. "Seem rather ill, but did Ms. Braginskaya get to the e-mails I sent her over the weekend?"

Well. Mikaela was in a good mood all weekend, so he's going to bet she absolutely did _not_ get to those e-mails.

"Well," Dimitri says. "I'm going to guess _no_." Mr. Li's frown deepens, and Dimitri thinks of the perfect solution to his problem, _and_ to his own desire to get Mikaela back for forcing him so close to John for no reason other than spite. " _But_ she doesn't really have much work for the department on a Monday," he says. "She's at her computer - you could probably steal her for a few hours with like, no repercussions."

Mr. Li looks thoughtful for a second. "I might just," he settles for. "Thank you, Mr. Bonkovsky." he pauses. "Take your time outside - you're looking a little green." He nods towards John, before pushing past to go ruin Mikaela's day.

John turns to him, grinning. "You're terrible," he says. "You're an evil man, 'Mitri."

"She needs to be humbled," Dimitri says sagely. "Come on, I want to be out of the building when she inevitably loses her shit."

Dimitri tries very hard to hide how red his face is when John slings an arm around his shoulders, leading him outside with a hearty laugh that makes his gut churn uncomfortably.

* * *

"I thought your last name was Braginskaya too," John says when they get outside and Dimitri chokes.

"Excuse me?" he splutters, red in the face, but it isn't embarrassment anymore, it's pure lack of air. Because of the choking. "That's- that's _Mika’s_ surname! I get we act like it sometimes but I'd _die_ if I was in like, _any_ way related to her!"

And there goes that funny look again - the look on his face Dimitri just _can’t_ place, because once again, it's gone too fast. He thinks it's incredibly rude.

"Right," John says, forcing a dry little laugh out. "Sorry, I just assumed." He yanks his arm away from him and Dimitri feels freezing all of a sudden now that the heavy warmth is gone. It feels wrong, leaves him feeling uncomfortable, like he's done or said something so very wrong but couldn't tell you what he actually did. "You're looking a lot better, Dimitri," his smile is back.

Why isn't he calling him 'Mitri anymore? Dimitri finds it cute. Like a sweet inside joke that makes him feel warm. "I think it was just stuffy," he says. "Maybe my coffee was funky this morning. I dunno."

John laughs. "Man," he says. "I think every time I see you you're either talking about coffee, or chugging it like your life depends on it."

"Caffeine addiction's a bitch," Dimitri agrees. "My dependence on it is disgusting, I know. We can't all be ready to face the day like you, John."

John laughs. It isn't the same. It sounds stilted, forced. God, Dimitri doesn't want to force the guy into spending time with him.

"Hear about that college lecturer?" John asks hurriedly, desperate for conversation because sure, they’re co-workers, but Dimitri doesn't think he's ever spoken this much with John on his own. "The guy on the news last night. Arrested for murder - they found remains in his freezer, I think."

"What the fuck?" Dimitri squints. "That's so fucked up what?"

"Yeah," John says. "Whenever there was a semester change, he'd like, half his class? The remaining students would ask him what happened, and he'd just tell them the missing students had been transferred to a different campus or something."

"Man," Dimitri says. "I think all of my college lecturers hated me too but _come on_ ," he pulls a face. "That's fuckin' scary."

He tries not to think. Tries to ignore that John is trying to talk to him when he _clearly_ doesn't want to.

Dimitri wishes he knew what it was he did.

You don't realise what it is you've got until you lose it.

He's barely felt it. Barely felt the warmth of John's smile directed at him. Barely heard how loud and freely he laughs when Dimitri says something particularly stupid. He's only had the reassuring weight of his arm around his shoulders, and he wants nothing more than to feel it again. Even if just for a second.

"You-" Dimitri swallows thickly, willing his voice to stay level and _not_ waver because that would be terribly pathetic. "You don't need to stay with me," he forces out, trying to laugh it off. "I'm feeling better. You can go do your work! I'll be up in like, a minute."

John watches him a little longer, eyes him up like he really wants to say something, but his face softens up. The strained smile melts into something much more gentle. "You sure?"

"Course!" Dimitri assures, waving him off. "Don't mind me!"

John stares at him for just a second too long. Dimitri wants to snap at him to just say whatever he wants to say and put him out of his misery!

But he turns, and he re-enters the building before he can quite muster up the courage.

Dimitri is left alone.

He wants to rip out his own fucking hair - anything to make him forget the bitter sting in his chest - it feels like a rejection before he even _asked_ the motherfucker out! He wasn't _going_ to but what if he _did_?

_(That's always a fun one to consider. Dimitri has spent so much brain-power at his desk, staring at his monitor and the unchanging numbers and statistics with absolutely no thoughts beyond the many scenarios he can think up, of every possible outcome of him just asking John if he wants to get coffee sometime. Does John even like coffee? Fuck, it just gets more and more complicated, and Dimitri doesn't think he's even considered half of his possible scenarios as is.)_

He doesn't know how long he stands there. But he decides he should probably go see the damage he's caused by sending Mikaela to the wolves. It's better than considering what-ifs and agonising himself wondering what he did to upset John.

_(He is going to think about John. He is going to obsess and freak himself out - he is not going to sit still until he figures it out - how had he upset John?)_

By the time he's back in the offices, John is at his seat, pointedly not looking at him and his heart sinks. Mikaela isn't at her desk either, her computer is locked, her coffee is left alone - she must've been kidnapped against her will - Mr. Li's glare has that effect, and he _loves_ to save his nastiest ones for Mikaela.

He sighs. Quiet, he doesn't want to attract any attention - he literally doesn't think he can deal with anyone that isn't Mikaela, and she isn't even _here_ and it's his own fault, but before he can even _begin_ wallowing, Mikaela roughly shoves past him.

Mikaela turns to face him, looking absolutely furious, but then she does a visible double take.

"Alright," she says carefully, looking marginally more confused than mad. "I was gonna tell you all about how much I want to punch Moneybags McRichBitch in the throat, but you look like _shit_ what happened?"

"I remain absolutely incapable of talking to anything resembling an attractive man," Dimitri bemoans. "Leave me to die."

She blinks. He has thrown her off entirely and it shows. "You were gone for like _twenty minutes_ what did you _do_?"

" _Ms. Braginskaya_!" she winces. Dimitri winces. Mr. Li sounds as furious as Mikaela had looked. "Any time today!"

"God I fucking hate him," Mikaela hisses under her breath. "Okay bud, I got to play IT with moneybags. You're gonna have to hold down the fort without me today." she claps him on the back. "Godspeed Mitya, I'm gonna interrogate you later.

And in this instant, Dimitri regrets his terribly spiteful action - he needs Mikaela more than ever. He needs _someone_ to understand just what the fuck has gone wrong. He needs to parse it out with his words and try to map it out, figure out where the _fuck_ he went wrong. Jesus Christ, _why_ did he tell Mr. Li he could just straight up steal Mikaela? He _needs_ her more than him!

He nods miserably. "Don't die," he says pitifully.

"Stay strong," she throws right back, just as serious. "Good _god_ could this be considered workplace harassment? Mr. Li?" she snaps, turning on her heel. "I _have_ an actual job, you know."

"And I pay you," Mr. Li grouses right back. "You should watch your mouth."

Dimitri doesn't hear whatever she snips right back with.

_(Normally Dimitri would be far too invested in it. He's mystified by whatever weird thing Mikaela has going on with the company CEO, literally no one speaks to Mr. Li the way she does, because he would have them fired in an instant. He doesn't know why he lets her do it. Doesn't know why he seems to play into it._

_However, this is not a normal day and Dimitri is mourning a relationship that has already crumbled so he simply does not realise.)_

Dimitri turns back to his monitor.

He wants to cry.

He wants to cry so goddamn bad it's _all_ he thinks - and before he can even _comprehend_ what the fuck that entails, Miranda is shaking his shoulder.

"Dimitri," she says sweetly. "Darling, you _really_ don't look well. Catherine says you can go home. Do you want a ride? You're not too far from my apartment."

Dimitri doesn't get why Mikaela doesn't like her. Miranda's a sweetheart. "Yeah," he says hoarsely. "Yeah, I... think I'll take you up on that."

She just nods firmly, and he doesn't think she would take no for an answer. "Good," she says. "Don't worry, John says he'll let Mikaela know for you. Honestly, you need to look after yourself." She helps him stand up. All it does is remind him of how John had done the same earlier.

John glances back at them when he moves. His face looks pinched. Bless, he's worried. Dimitri would think it was sweet if he wasn't so torn up. "Thank you, Miranda," he says miserably. "I owe you a drink next time we go out."

"Oh shut up," she snorts. "You look awful. It doesn't suit you. You need to rest up and look after yourself," she insists. "You're like the _glue_ Dimitri."

"Excuse me?" Dimitri squints as she begins shepherding him towards the door. "The _glue_?"

"The glue." Miranda says confidently. "We're all the cogs, you're the glue and Mika's the only thing keeping us turning. You glue her to us. You soften the blow when she's in a terrible mood, you know?"

Dimitri has literally never considered it like that but Miranda might be onto something.

"Where does Catherine lie in this glue--to-cog scenario?" he asks, so enlightened in that brief second that he forgets why he was so miserable. Until he remembers and his mood plummets so quick he feels nauseous.

"Catherine's like..." Miranda pauses, watching him like a hawk as the descend the stairs. "You know how there's always a _useless_ cog that's like, there for decoration?"

"I have never seen a cog in real life Miranda," Dimitri says. "Who the _fuck_ uses cogs anymore?"

"It's a metaphor!" Miranda laughs, herding him towards her car. "You know what I mean. Come on, lets get you home - you need to lie down _yesterday_."

Dimitri feels like he got hit by a car yesterday. It's not good.

Miranda seems to realise this, she drives in relative silence, only asking every now and then if he's okay - does he need her to stop? Should she slow down?

She watches him so concerned as he stumbles out when they finally get to his shitty apartment building. "I'm going to text Mikaela and tell her to make you soup," Miranda declares. "I expect you to eat it, Dimitri! It helps! I promise, my grandmother's recipe, we all swear by it!"

"I promise I will Miranda," Dimitri promises. Is this what it's like to have a mother who actually cares? It's nice. "Thanks again."

Maybe his shit mood is making him see the worst in _everything_ but fuck, he wishes his own mother had loved him.

She only nods one final time before driving away, and Dimitri stumbles upstairs, through halls that smell like piss and smoke and he tries very hard not to trip over himself in his awfully groggy state.

Dimitri remembers he forgot to take his meds this morning, when he drops himself face first into bed. He thinks that might have done him in. He thinks he should go take them _now_ so he doesn't plummet even further.

Dimitri falls asleep.

* * *

He doesn't dream, and it's the shit kind of sleep that has him waking up so fat he feels like he blinked instead of sleeping.

His throat feels dry, and he sighs heavily, practically falling right back out of bed - he _knows_ he's been asleep for hours, it's so dark now, he had to have, but it only just feels like he crawled back home - and into the living room.

"Evening," Mikaela greets from her little perch in their shitty armchair. She's got her laptop settled on her lap. "You should've said you were sick, dumbass."

"Didn't realise," he grunts.

"You forgot to take your meds," she says next, and he winces. "Come on," she says. "Take them and eat something."

Dimitri doesn't answer her. Just does as he's told, and lets her drop a bowl of soup in front of him with his yellowed bottle of anti-depressants.

They don't help. Dimitri knows they won't - he missed them and his mood had deteriorated faster than ever. But he hopes it'll keep him going lower. He doesn't feel as sick, he supposes, not even when Mikaela starts asking him about the terribad conversation with John that ruined _everything_.

" _How_ did you fuck it up?" Mikaela complains, not even looking up from her laptop. "You were gone for _twenty minutes_ Mitya!"

"I don't _know_!" Dimitri snaps. "We talked about _you_ and he got... _weird_! Did you do something?" he turns on her so fast it's almost embarrassing. This is Mikaela - who loves him as unconditionally as he loves her. She may be a rat bastard on the best of days, but she's a sweet rat and would never do him any actual legitimate harm.

She doesn't seem mad at him - just gives him a look that makes her look _too much_ like her dad when he would give them the whole 'I'm not mad, just disappointed' spiel.

"Mitya," she says, still reminding him too much of Nikolas for his liking - but you know. Genetics dictated that Mikaela had to look like the spitting image of her father and it's kind of scary sometimes. "I think you need to calm down." She settles her laptop down onto the coffee table to properly face him and have a legitimate conversation about his feelings - something Dimitri simply does not appreciate. "I don't think lashing out at me is going to help."

God. Dimitri hates it when Mikaela gets like this.

It means he's gotten to a point where she thinks he needs discount therapy.

She's good at it is the worst part. She's jumped between more than a handful of therapists over the years, and she's very good at parroting back their advice and mannerisms. "You can't psycho-analyse me," he warns, his voice is already losing the heat to it.

Mikaela gives him a look. One that roughly translates to 'bet I fucking can', before she cocks her head. "Okay," she says. "Talk to me then, what were you talking to him about _specifically_? He isn't exactly the type to switch between his feelings as quick as I do."

"I," Dimitri fumbles for a little bit. His mind is erratic and more than a little panicked, and he's trying very hard to remember the _exact_ conversation that made John pull that odd face before- "He thought we had the same last name," he says finally. "I think - I think he thought we were related? Like, _actually_ related? He-" Dimitri pauses again, running through his memory just to make _sure_. "He got weird when I told him I would rather die than be related to you."

And Dimitri watches Mikaela's eyes shut very slowly with an equally slow exhale. She pinches the bridge of her nose, and he's beginning to think that he's missed something.

Mikaela takes a few more very slow, measured breaths, like she's trying to reel back her god-awful temper, before she opens her eyes again. "Dimitri," she says. "You're so fucking stupid."

He knows this, but _hey_. She isn't exactly working at full marble capacity herself, but he doesn't have the audacity to tell her that _nearly_ as confidently as she tells him.

Dimitri swallows around the lump in his throat. "So you've already clocked the issue?" he asks carefully, quietly. Pitifully, dare he say. Because he always does feel oddly pitiful when Mikaela deems him in need of her Discount Therapy. Although this has been less therapy, more her figuring out what he did wrong and calling him stupid because of it. Which he supposes _is_ therapy in a fucked up way of thinking, but _whatever_.

Dimitri didn't sign up for therapy. Mikaela just _decided_ he needed it, and she can't work on her _own_ emotional issues to save her life, but she's _surprisingly_ good at nagging people into fixing _their_ emotional issues. Dimitri is usually her project. He appreciates it in theory, but in practice, talking about his feelings is never good - it leaves him feeling like he's clawed out his own chest and left himself vulnerable to everyone for like a week.

"Dimitri, I'm here to offer you a tried and true method of solving your problem in like, ten minutes tops."

Dimitri knows what this method is already. Dimitri does not like this method, even if he knows it is tried and true.

"I'm not going to _ask_ him," he says, before she can beat him to the punch. "That's embarrassing and he'll clock me so fast."

"It's cute that you think I can't see through your self-sabotage, Mitya," she says easily. " _Why_ are you so scared of him knowing you like him?"

" _Mika_ ," he says, pained and desperate. "Mika you _know_ , please don't make me say it."

Mikaela's face softens up. She looks so tired and sad just for him in that one instant - he feels terrible. He feels like all he does is make her _worry_ about him - when he doesn't even intend to solve his own problems because of his own cowardice. "What's the worst that can happen Dimitri?" She asks finally. "Sit and think about it okay? What is the _worst_ possible outcome?"

Dimitri feels his throat close up before he can think otherwise. "He could reject me," he simply says, quiet, choked up, like he's sixteen and not twenty five.

"And he might," Mikaela says. "And you need to understand that it doesn't make you unlovable, Mitya. Just because one man doesn't like you, it doesn't mean _anything_ beyond his own tastes." She leans backwards. "You've unintentionally put John on this pedestal in your head - you've made him this grand image in your head, and you're giving yourself impossible standards that just don't exist."

In theory, Dimitri knows she's right. In practice, he can't separate John from the perfect image in his head. Mikaela doesn't look thrilled when he voices this.

"You can't do that," she tells him firmly. "Dimitri, you _can’t_ possibly begin to even understand what John thinks. He's a whole person! He's a three dimensional person with _layers_ , and you can barely parse your own goddamn sense of self. To try and- to try and assume what someone else thinks is just impossible."

"Is that what you did," Dimitri asks without thinking. Because he's hurting. Because his feelings have been rubbed raw and he can't help but want to make Mikaela hurt a little bit too. It's horrible, it's nasty, and he's not proud of how dirty he and Mikaela can play when they're both exposed and hurting in the worst ways they can. "With-"

"Yeah," Mikaela says loudly, firmly stopping him from even _saying_ her name He flinches without thinking, finally looking up.

She doesn't look mad still. But she looks even sadder. "Mika," he tries quietly, guilt gnawing at him as fast as the desire to hurt had. He knows she knows, they both know - they're trying still. Some days are harder than others. He can't force the rest of the words out.

He watches Mikaela carefully, watches the tiny movements - one hand finding her shoulder and squeezing. Not firmly, but a feathery touch when she needs a reminder. When she needs to remember where she is - what she isn't doing - what has already happened, that she won't let happen again. "That's exactly what happened with her," Mikaela says finally. "I put her so high up in my mind that I was an idiot, and I let my own false expectations hurt me."

'I let _her_ hurt me.' goes unspoken. Mikaela had slammed that chapter of her life so firmly shut it never quite healed over right - left a nasty scar behind because she never took the time to heal properly.

Dimitri wonders how she could have healed properly.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have brought her up."

"You shouldn't have," Mikaela agrees. "It was dirty. But you're hurting, so I'll let it go." she exhales again, easing her tensed shoulders. "Do you see what I mean, Dimitri?" she asks.

"Yeah," he croaks. He feels exhausted. He feels like he's just cried for like, three hours despite no tears. "Fuck," he says.

"Talk to him, Dimitri," Mikaela says sagely. "Not about what happened today, _just_ talk to him. Make friends, get to know the guy - he's only human like us." she cracks a smile, something a little more vicious. "Everyone has an ugly part of themselves they don't like. Even your dream-boat."

"I know," Dimitri says quietly. "Fuck me, I _know_. I'm..." he looks up again. "I'm really sorry Mika. I shouldn't do that just to... make myself feel less shit."

"Everyone has an ugly part Mitya," she repeats. "You're trying, and that's all I ask." she pauses. "Actually, not everyone does, I take that back."

"Literally _who_?" Dimitri asks, like he doesn't know what she's about to say. They've got their own tried and true method of dealing with their lashing out like this. They acknowledge, and they move on as quick as they can.

"Me," she says haughtily. "All my angles are perfect, my emotional state is perfection. You wish you were me." it's a lie. It's the _biggest_ lie she's ever told in her life. But it makes her smile - really smile, not that sad little thing that makes his heart weep, and it makes him laugh.

"I can't wait for the day someone loves me as much as you love yourself," he sighs wistfully, already feeling his heart get a little bit lighter.

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she says. "That's a level of love incomparable, and you know it." She leans over to the coffee table, shutting her laptop lid. "You still look _awful_ ," she announces, sitting straighter and stretching. Her spine pops loudly and Dimitri's face scrunches up automatically.

"Thanks," he says drily.

"Shut up," she warns, standing up. "I need soy milk for coffee tomorrow - I'm gonna pick you up ice cream, because your stupid face upsets me when you're sad."

It's the nicest way she's going to say it, and Dimitri preens.

"I can come with you," he attempts to stand up, but Mikaela shoves him right back down. "I will sit here and wait for you," he corrects.

"You will," she agrees. "You need to chill out, Mitya. If you don't, I will return to the skinning you thing." she tugs her shoes back on - because it seems like she had been a rat and didn't take them off by the door they were right beside her. "I'll text you, so you know I haven't been murdered," she promises, because Mikaela gets side-tracked and loses time, and Dimitri worries very much.

She's yanking her coat on when she kind of... hesitates. She turns to him again and he winces. The sad expression has returned and he doesn't like the implications of what that means. "I wish you saw what I see, Mitya," she says quietly, turning to face him. "It's a _crime_ you don't love yourself the way I love you."

He feels his own face crumple, and Mikaela's twists into something that makes him want to be sick. He hates it when she worries for him like this - but she does, and he knows it's a double standard, he worries for her just as strongly, and she doesn't say a goddamn word about it, accepts it as is and lets him do as he pleases. "I know," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Mikaela sinks into the seat beside him, leaning against him, solid and heavy, grounding him in this one instant - grounding him in this single conversation and for a second he can't think of himself as this horrid undesirable creature. "You're so kind, Mitya," she says, taking his hand in hers. "You don't deserve to feel this about yourself."

"Neither do you," he shoots back - because Mikaela doesn't practice what she preaches, and she jumps between a blatant love for herself and hatred so vile it hurts to consider.

_(Is this what she feels like? Dimitri wonders. Is this what he makes her feel? When his hatred for himself runs too deep? It makes him ache. Makes his bones quake and rattle and he can't fathom it sometimes. Is this what she feels?)_

"Products of shit parents," Mikaela says with a barely-there twitch to her smile. She stands back up, bending down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "I won't be long. Be nice to yourself while I'm gone."

"I will," he promises, watching her turn her back to him, snatching up her keys and wallet as she opens the front door. "I love you," he calls out.

"Love you too," Mikaela returns easily, their shitty, heavy door shutting behind her.

* * *

Mikaela doesn’t think she could put words to how much she loves Dimitri.

Not like romantically, that's weird, but she loves him, is the point.

She loves Dimitri to death - unconditionally, with everything she has, and she _knows_ that he knows that. Even still, she knows that sometimes she comes off a lot more harsh than she intends to, and she _hopes_ that he understands that.

Mikaela just needs him to understand sometimes. She needs to get it through his terribly thick skull that he is _loved_. He needs to understand that she loves him, that her dad loves him, that _John_ loves him.

She's just _bitter_.

Because if he could just _understand_ this, he could have what it is he is so justly deserved. If he could yank his goddamn head out of his ass, he would get why John had been funny with him. She doesn't get how he missed it - but she wasn't going to tell him. It's entirely a conversation he needs to have with _him_ because communication is key in a relationship, and if he can't figure it out before they're even _in_ a relationship, it's going to crash and burn so fast.

She sympathises though. She's not a monster. The odd jitters before even _approaching_ someone with your feelings are a beast in their own right - she's had a few break-ups that were less time consuming and gut wrenching than the pre-relationship jitters. The terrible jitters that put you so on edge it's _stupid._

_("Maybe you didn't love them, like you said you did," a traitorous voice spits form the back of her head, like it has any fucking right. Mikaela deals with it the same way she does most feelings now, and squishes it down and pretends she didn't hear it.)_

Dimitri has sat beside her during them.

The jitters and break-ups alike, and even if it stings a little bit at wounds that haven't quite healed over, the least she can do is make him feel better with the age-old cure of ice cream.

The gas station stinks. It always does, always has and always will. The inside is only a _little_ more bearable - the shitty alcove in the staff-room is the only stench-free spot, and she only knows this because she used to work the night-shift when she was still in college.

The seventeen year old at the counter flails a bit - panicking when he realises someone's walked in, but Leandro calms himself down with a curse when he realises it's just Mikaela and yanks his phone back out of his pocket. "Fuck you," he says. "You scared me."

"Aren't you too young to be working this late?" Mikaela asks absently, kneeling down by their shitty freezer section. She'd go to Seven-Eleven but she really _cannot_ be bothered walking that far. "Gotta get good grades, dipshit."

"Aren't you a too broken-up with my brother to give me life advice?" Leandro shoots back. It doesn't sting - because Luca was Mikaela's only good break-up and she still talks to him and the rest of his family. "He told me you didn't stay in school."

"I'm not a good role-model," she warns. "You _know_ this kid, you crashed with me and Luca a couple times." She drops two cartons of ice cream onto the counter, raspberry swirl and mint chocolate chip because if Dimitri's going to be miserable and wallow into ice cream she might as well fucking join him.

Leandro hums absently, chin in his hand, making no move to scan her ice cream and she wonders if Luca will understand if she just punches his kid brother in the throat. She then supposes it'd be weird to text and ask with like, no context. "You get broken up with _again_?" he asks, faux sympathy coating his words in this sickly sweet tone that reminds her of the time she had laughed so hard at Luca when he told her he was working as a high-school chemistry teacher. Teenagers are the worst - she knows this, as she has former experience being a teenager, and she knows for a _fact_ she was awful.

She decides to be an adult for once in her life, and not lower herself to a seventeen year old boy’s level. "How is your brother?" she asks instead, nudging the cartons of ice cream in a way she hopes he gets the hint and just does his job. "I haven't talked to him in a while."

"Fine," Leandro says, finally, _finally_ swiping the two cartons of ice cream across the scanner. The beeping is disjointed and loud as he talks idly, telling her all about Luca's god-awful sleeping habits like Mikaela isn't intimately aware of them herself. She finds herself staring at the dent in the wall behind him and feels her throat close up.

Dimitri brought her up, and Mikaela knows he didn't mean it, but it's going to take a while for her to push her back down.

_(When she was nineteen, and she worked here, she had been head over heels for one of her co-workers, Cherry. She was six foot three, mean, and knew how to rile Mikaela up in all the wrong ways. She doesn't know if it's fair to say they were dating, but they sure argued like it sometimes. The dent in the wall behind Luca was the result of one of their arguments - the one that got too physical for Mikaela's liking and she quit the next day. She never saw Cherry again.)_

"Anything else?" Leandro asks, bored. Mikaela remembers when he was a kid - a toddler who adored Luca and treated him like he hung the moon. She hopes he gets out of his shitty miserable-teenager phase soon.

"Can you sell the cigarettes?" she asks. "Or are they anal about that now?"

"I'm not meant to," Leandro says, spinning in his chair anyway and snatching up her preferred carton without asking. "But I don't talk about the coke stuff behind the dumpsters either, so." he shrugs, scanning them and tossing them at her. "Don't look at me like that," he says. "I just remember what you'd ask for whenever I went shopping with you n'Luca."

"Uh huh," Mikaela says. "When did you last have the slushie machine cleaned?"

"You cleaned that thing?" Leandro eyes it up warily. "I'm pretty sure I saw a cockroach in there the other day."

"I'm here for a good time, not a long time," Mikaela says sagely. She never cleaned it either, and she knows there used to be cockroaches in it for _sure_. "If I'm lucky, it'll give me food poisoning and I won't have to go to work tomorrow."

Leandro gives her a look. One that's trying very hard not to be concerned and she almost feels touched, before he stands up. "What flavour?"

"I don't think they have flavours," she says finally. "I think it's just the essence of red and blue."

"Well, your highness," Leandro snips, "Doth thee wish to partake in thine essence of thy red beverage or blue?"

"Purple," Mikaela says, because she's not an animal. "You need to work on your customer service." She's fumbling with her wallet when her phone buzzes. It's Dimitri, politely telling her not to get a slushie if she's at that god-awful crackhead gas station again. She ignores him while Leandro sets her terribad slushie in front of her.

"You want a bag?" he asks.

"Please," she says, fiddling with her bank card, tapping her finger against it erratically. Leandro gives her an odd look while he drops the ice cream into a plastic bag for her. She doesn't know why she feels sick - she hasn't even _sipped_ the cockroach slushie yet.

She taps her card on the scanner when Leandro nods at her. "Not to sound like I care or anything," he says. "But are you okay?"

Mikaela doesn't know.

"Course I am," she lies, slinging the plastic bag over one arm, letting it hang from her elbow. She takes an obnoxious slurp of the slushie. It sure fucking tastes like purple. "Don't sweat it, I'm just old and tired." she turns on her heel. "Stay in school asshole, tell your brother to text me."

"Can't you just call him?" Leandro grouses.

"There's an etiquette to talking to your exes, you'll learn it when you get older," she hasn't texted Luca because she is so miserable recently and she's trying very hard to push everyone away.

She waves goodbye without turning back to him, texting Dimitri with one hand, telling him to back off and let her drink her roach slushies in peace thanks.

"Whatever," Leandro says. "Bye. Don't like... die on your way home."

The same, disjointed chiming noise is the answer he gets, and Mikaela breathes. She hadn't realised how much the flickering too-bright lights were hurting her skull - but now that it's dark she can think again, and she thinks that her head is throbbing.

She then wonders why the _fuck_ she got ice cream for herself. She's going to eat like, three spoonfuls, remember she's lactose intolerant and then spend a stupid amount of time hating herself for it in the bathroom. Her terrible lizard brain has not been pulling it's weight and it shows.

She situates the plastic bag a little more, getting it _just_ right before she starts walking again. A brief clatter from the vague direction of the dumpsters makes her pause and spare a glance upwards. It's _probably_ just a coke dealer or a crackhead - the usual.

Someone is standing tall over someone else, slumped over by one of the dumpsters. Dipshits, Mikaela thinks, there are so many better places to have less-than friendly conversations over whatever shit they're trying to deal.

She shakes her head, and moves to continue on her way home when her idiot brain stops her with a few loud sirens that _insist_ she take another look.

So, Mikaela does a double-take, slushie straw dangling from her mouth while she fucks around trying to shove her phone back into her pocket without spilling sugar all over herself. And _wait_.

She knows that silhouette well, now that she's paying attention. She has spent many a workday wondering why someone as awful as Felix - sorry, _Mr. Li_ \- big rich CEO, has any right looking the way he does. It's insulting. If she was a common whore she could look past his absolutely awful personality and she would _absolutely_ try her luck at climbing him like a goddamn tree.

_(He's six foot six, mean, and knows how to rile Mikaela up in all the wrong ways. That horrible traitorous part of her mind tells her she has a type, and once again, she squashes it to shut that motherfucker up)_

Mikaela is not a common whore, and she is not tempted by a handsome face. Cherry had really given her an assist on that hands-on learning experience.

Her brain catches up with her too late - every nice thing she has to think about him and his appearance vanishing because oh my god that's blood.

The slumped over body looks a lot _worse_ now that Mikaela recognises it as unconscious and most likely dead judging by the sharp protrusion erupting from their chest.

She blinks once.

Twice.

Checks her slushie to make sure this isn't like, a really shit date rape thing minus the bar. She then wonders if you _could_ drug a slushie like that? In theory, she guesses, depends how much the ice has melted. She slurps it without thinking - and right, yes, her erratic brain politely reminds her she should probably stop weighing up whether or not that absolute creep of a manager had drugged the slushie machine (he didn't) and _go_.

But you know. Mikaela's brain doesn't necesarrily _work_ the best, and by the time she catches up with herself, she fucking _shits_ herself because she somehow missed Felix standing up and approaching her and getting so close she can see how fucking _mad_ he is and Mikaela thinks she is actually about to be murdered right now.

She’s going to haunt the _shit_ out of Leandro for jinxing her.

"Ms. Braginskaya," Felix forces out and Mikaela - erratic at the best of times, incompetent at the worst, does all she can in her briefly panicked state.

She calls upon every self defence tactic she's ever heard over the years, and she jams her knee between his legs and fucking _books_ it.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is born entirely from a shit joke in a group chat that wasn't even funny in retrospect.
> 
> The joke grew - I got attached and here we are I guess.
> 
> If anyone finds any spelling and/or grammar mistakes, or any instances of me using the same word differently no you didn't <3


End file.
